Photo by Daniel Ramos on Unsplash
You're like these cigarettes I smoke,
I enhaled you whole
but the smoke still rushed out.
Like it did not like what was inside.
Like it was never meant to be there in the first place.
And the part of you that remained inside
only hurts me now
or will eventually put me to sleep.
Forever.
Because of lungs that couldn't hold,
or the heart that sustained more agony than it deserved.
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